Trapped

I am trapped by my finances.

I can't escape.  I literally can't escape.  We have one car (that has issues, btw) between two people who work full time in opposite directions and opposite schedules.  I want to sneak out on my lunch break and window shop or drive around my old neighborhood.  I want to throw the girls in the car and go have lunch with my hubby or just surprise him by saying 'hello' and driving back home.  I want it to sit in the driveway all day and never be used, but look out the window and see it sitting there waiting for the minute that I WANT to use it.

There is nothing we ever seem able to do to get 'caught up'.  Every time we have an extra penny we end up having some sort of catastrophic event and I hear the universe belly laughing at us. It takes money to do stuff, no?  Hell, it takes money to make MORE money.  



I am trapped by my town.

I can't seem to escape it.  I don't want to live in a small town.  I don't want to live in a "country" town or a conservative one or a quiet one.  I want to live where there is noise and color and tastes and smells from every culture and every neighborhood that is not my own.  I want public transportation- smelly buses and, let's face it, smelly people sometimes.  I want to be able to walk to the store and to museums and to the best dive in town.  I want street food and horns honking and historic districts.  



I am trapped by routine. 

I can't escape it.  Escaping routine puts the balance in danger. When I go off my routine I go off my rails.  Seriously.  I shop, I call in sick, I sleep, I don't sleep, I never want to be home.  I get wander lust and day dream and want to run away.  Because people who live without routine do those things.  I WANT to do those things.  I want to call in sick and run away and spend money on a road trip we can't afford and binge watch really bad (or really great) t.v.  I want to regret it all.



I am trapped by my meds.

I can't escape them.  They are, supposedly, there to make me normal.  Or keep me stable.  Or whatever other way you choose to look at it. Well, I don't know what "normal" is, but I'm fairly sure that I don't like it.  I am boring.  I am, as one of my previous blogs so succinctly put it, the most boring girl in the world.  My meds keep me from being creative.  They keep me from being fun.  They keep me from being interestingly despondent.  My meds keep me from feeling beautiful- or hideous.  They keep me from feeling sexy- or sexual.  I am able to function, true.  But is functioning all there is?



I am trapped by my head.  

I can't escape.  I talk to me, I question me.  I am my only friend and most days I hate me.  My head is lonely and dark and crazy and safe.  Many days, it scares me.  My head is a box that I can't claw or crawl my way out of...because I like it here.  No one tells me they won't be my friend just because I'm depressed (depressing?) and morose.  Of course my head tells me I'm crazy, but at least the crazy never leave me. My head is my safe haven.